


The Loki Goodness Campaign

by ArgentNoelle, Sonia34



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action Figures, Attempted Murder, Avengers Merchandise, Avengers Movie Night, BAMF Loki, Bad Advice, Bananas, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Dreams and Nightmares, Epic Poetry, Explosions, Friendship, Gen, Gossip, Hair Braiding, Humor, Insults, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki is not sorry, Loki's failed attempts at being a good guy, Loki-centric, Male-Female Friendship, Misinformation, News Media, Newspapers, Original Character Death(s), Parody, Public Relations, Pyrotechnics, Relationship Advice, Spying, Tea, The Avengers hang out in Stark Tower, Warning: Loki, job hunting, lots of things get blown up, movie stunts, murderous impulses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentNoelle/pseuds/ArgentNoelle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonia34/pseuds/Sonia34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki finally gets tired of the attempts on his life, and endeavors to convince the world that he is now a good guy.<br/>No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Loki woke up one fine summer morning to the sound of the lock on his bedroom door being picked. He knew this, of course, because he had picked enough locks to recognize the sound. Although he usually preferred using magic. Or explosions.

  
He groaned.

  
The door flew open, to reveal a short man wearing an orange T-shirt with the word _Pumpkins_ emblazoned on it, and a cape obviously made from a sheet of plastic. It hadn’t even bothered trying to look intimidating.

  
“I,” the man proclaimed, straightening himself to his full puny height, “am George.”

  
Loki sat up. “George who?” he said.

  
The man looked vaguely insulted. “George Weathermarrow, if you must know,” he said tetchily. “I am here to kill you for your crimes against humanity.”

  
“And Jotunheim,” Loki put in helpfully. “You can’t forget that.”

  
The man scowled, pulling a butterfly net from under his cape.

  
“How may I ask,” Loki said, with a sneer of disdain, “are you planning to kill me with that?”

  
“I thought the whole thing out.” The man said, with a faint smile on his lips, and a far away look in his eyes. “I will cast the net mightily over your sorry head and twist it with great force, creating a severe strain on your neck, therefore causing it to snap.”

  
Loki couldn’t help it. He laughed.

  
The man let out what was probably supposed to be a roar, and flew at Loki, butterfly net outstretched.

  
Loki stood up.

* * *

 **FRONT PAGE NEWS** :

George Weathermarrow, a conscientious and quiet man of 42, has gone missing this past week. His wife stated that, “He left on Monday morning to go to work just as he usually does. I haven’t seen him since.”  
It’s been one week since the man’s mysterious disappearance, and police have found no sign of him, though they say there is no reason to suspect foul play.  
“It’s possible he just wandered off and got lost. Happens to my dog all the time.”


	2. Chapter 2

The day after the article came out detailing the regretful disappearance of George Weathermarrow, Loki finally decided on doing something he’d been contemplating for some time. He was going to change his image. The constant attempts on his life were getting tedious.

The first thing to do, of course, was to hire a marketing agent.

Loki flipped through his phone book, before setting his finger down on a name that sounded promising. _Selva Jane, Marketing Professionalist:_ _Gain a reputation in whatever field you require._

One phone call and ten minutes later, Loki had arranged for Selva Jane herself to come to his house. No one ever said he wasn’t a smooth talker.

* * *

“So you see my dilemma,” Loki concluded.

“Ah yes,” replied Selva. “I see how that would be a problem. Don’t worry, we’ll have this taken care of in no time at all.”

Loki smiled. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

The two proceeded to Loki’s luxurious business room, where the woman spread out her papers on the table, and began to explain her marketing plan.

“We’ll start by getting everyone used to the idea that you’re not really a bad guy, and that they have nothing to fear from you. To do this, we will have you run an advice column in the Weekly News.”

“An advice column, you say?” Loki thought about that for a moment. “I suppose that would not do any harm.”

“Great!” the woman said, beaming, “I’ll write the paper and see what I can arrange. You can expect my call tomorrow.”


	3. Loki the Advice Columnist

A few days later, Loki found himself receiving his first letter.

_Dear Loki,_

_I really want to help a friend of mine who has been feeling down the past couple of weeks. Nothing I do seems to help. I can’t bear to see her so sad like this. I don’t know what to do._

Loki stared into the middle distance and frowned. _Sentiment_ , he thought scathingly.

He made his computer appear, and began to type.

_Don’t give up on your friend. Of course you must try to cheer her up. Since you can’t think of how to go about it, I will give you a suggestion:_

Loki paused. He could not, for the life of him, think of what to write next.

Well, what used to cheer Thor up?

_Take her to face a mighty threat. After facing death together, you will find she is much more grateful for your assistance. If she has any decency at all._

_If not, then I’d advise you not to waste your time on her any longer. You will free yourself of one less Mortal to care about who doesn’t care for you in return._

After reading his response, he nodded. Yes, that seemed appropriate. What he would have given to have received advice like this in his youth.

* * *

FRONT PAGE NEWS

While exploring an abandoned apartment building, two teenage girls injured themselves severely when the floor collapsed beneath them.

When asked about their reasons for entering the old wreck, one tearfully replied, “He answered me. In the newspaper.”

Subsequent investigations have revealed the harmful advice came from a new contributor to the _Weekly News_ , a mysterious figure presenting themself only as _Loki_.

The doctor who treated the two girls had this to say. “Personally, I’d advise everyone to ignore any advice this man gives you. Just calling himself Loki is reason enough not to trust him. After all, that’s the name of the fellow who tried to destroy New York.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hardly a day after this unflattering article was published, Loki received a notice from the _Weekly News_ , stating, politely but firmly, that they must regretfully inform him his services were no longer welcome.

* * *

“What were you thinking?!” Selva Jane was as close to discomposed as she ever was. “How could you think that was good advice to give? I suppose we should only be grateful no one else did as you suggested. Some of those replies were, frankly, horrifying!”

“If they found my replies so unsatisfactory,” Loki spat, “Why print it at all?”

Selva opened her mouth. She closed it. “I’m not sure,” she said eventually.

Loki eyed her with suspicion. “You are hiding something from me,” he said.

“No—” Selva tried to protest.

“You _know_ who I am, don’t you? You can never hope to fool me, _mortal_.”

The woman sighed, looking a bit pale. “Well,” she said. “The _Weekly News_ isn’t what you’d call the most reliable of newspapers. But, frankly, they were the only ones who would work with you.”

“Ah,” Loki said. He walked over to the window, and imagined the impressive size of an explosion big enough to incinerate the headquarters of the _Weekly News_. “Perhaps we should stay away from advice for the time being.”


	5. Chapter 5

“There you go,” said Nicolas, setting down the cup beside Loki’s plate. He was sitting in his usual place by the window, where he could watch the ludicrously paltry mortals and have his back against a wall, whilst enjoying a pastry baked by the owner, Mr. Croswell.

“Thank you,” Loki said graciously, taking a sip of his tea. “Hmmm. Vanilla and lavender this time, is it? Quite an interesting combination.”

“It’s new,” Nicolas replied.

“Hardly surprising, Croswell, but enough about tea. I see that look of yours—do you wish to show me something?”

Nicolas grinned. “Its another poem,” he said, taking a folded paper out of his pocket and setting it on the table. Loki looked over it with a quirk of a smile. “Interesting,” he said at last. “It has talent, but the subject matter is rather mawkish…”

Nicolas rolled his eyes. “Who even says mawkish?”

“I do,” Loki returned. He raised an eyebrow. “Is it not appropriate? I have read it in various pieces of literature, and cross-referenced it with the dictionary to make sure I knew the finer shades of the meaning.”

“Oh, its fine, it’s just not widely used,” Nicolas returned. He shook his head. “I’d like to see what a poem _you_ wrote looks like!”

“I have written many. Is this surprising?”

Nicolas shrugged. “I don’t know—just because you read it doesn’t mean you write it.”

Loki took a small bite of his breakfast and thought for a moment. Poetry… of course! “I’ve got it,” he murmured at last. Loki conjured a fountain pen and began to scribble intently.

In a place of dread darkness evil raged   
dealing death, ten thousand bone-beasts  
riding through the land, like   
rocks rolling down a mountainside.  
Now the people despaired, crying in dread  
to their heroes,   
helpless against the onslaught.  
Then came the Avengers, mighty warriors,  
clad in battle-gear,   
a shield of safety from the shadowed sky  
striking out against their enemies.  
The great captain, friend of his people  
threw forth his headland of swords,  
and the man of iron flying above  
rained fire upon the unbleeding dead,  
the terrible giant sprang into the spear-din  
crushing the cries from the throats  
of his great enemies.  
Now the shieldmaiden shot down  
many fierce foes, and the hawk  
aimed from high above, every arrow true.  
Soon the streets stood empty  
but for the bones of the twice-slain.  
Then the people came in thanks,  
rejoicing for their enemies ruin.

Nicolas read the poem over with a slight smile. “Is this about last week?”

Loki said nothing, but grinned.

Nicolas scanned over the poem again, but then he frowned. “Where’s Thor?” he asked. Loki shrugged. “He’s the one who saved the day, right?” Nicolas went on.

“You could say so,” Loki said.

“So why isn’t he in the poem?”

“I ran out of room,” Loki said blandly. Nicolas looked up from the poem and met Loki’s eyes. He saw the humor in them and wondered what the mysterious man was planning now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Friend of his people”, “headland of swords” for shield, and “spear-din” for battle came from the list of Norse kennings on Wikipedia. The phrase “dealing death” came from the peacemaker prophecy in the Underland Chronicles by Suzanne Collins.


	6. Loki the Bard

There was a situation in the Avengers Tower: Thor stood looking through some cabinets, complaining assiduously about the lack of Asgardian snack items.

Natasha, who had just walked in, watched for a moment with a small smile, but before Tony could answer, she said, “We have bigger problems on our hands.”

That got their attention. “Seriously?” Tony complained. “It’s another supervillain, isn’t it? They have no respect for anyone’s schedule.”

Natasha ignored him, turning to Thor. “Loki’s been spotted.”

Thor set down an empty box of graham crackers.

* * *

A few minutes later, the Avengers had arrived at Grand Central, where they set up a perimeter and watched to see what Loki was doing. Strangely, the expected explosions still hadn’t occurred.

After a few moments, Tony couldn’t resist commenting. “He doesn’t seem to be doing much,” he said. “Are you sure he’s not just waiting for a train?”

As if in answer, Loki turned his head and smiled in their direction—even though they were hidden from view, he seemed to know just where they were.

A shiver of magic swept over him, and suddenly all the innocent bystanders could see him. There was a great panic. He cleared his throat, and said in a voice magically amplified so everyone could hear, “In a place of dread darkness evil raged, dealing death, ten thousand bone-beasts, riding through the land, like rocks rolling down a mountainside.”

Slowly, the panic subsided into bewilderment. “Is he reciting a poem?” someone asked.

“Is this the beginning of some sort of spell?” Steve asked.

“It does not seem to be,” Thor answered. Loki continued: “Now the people despaired, crying in dread to their heroes, helpless against the onslaught. Then came the Avengers, mighty warriors, clad in battle-gear, a shield of safety from the shadowed sky, striking out against their enemies.”

“Did he just _compliment_ us?” Tony asked incredulously.

“Either that or he’s stalling,” Clint answered. “Can I shoot him now, _before_ he brings out the flying pigs?”

There was a groan.

“Don’t remind me,” Tony said.

Loki seemed to be on a roll. “The great captain, friend of his people, threw forth his headland of swords, and the man of iron flying above rained fire upon the unbleeding dead,”

“Is he talking about last week?” Steve asked after a short silence. “Because that was kind of humiliating for all of us.”

“Except Thor,” Clint muttered.

“Despite the subject, the poem is well-formed,” Thor mused. “I can imagine how hard it must be to compose verse in your language.”

“The terrible giant sprang into the spear-din, crushing the cries from the throats of his great enemies. Now the shieldmaiden shot down many fierce foes, and the hawk aimed from high above, every arrow true.”

Clint smirked.

Loki had warmed up to his subject. By now, he was practically acting, arms flung in increasingly theatrical gestures as he paced across the room, relishing in the attention. But the end of the poem neared, and he lowered his voice the slightest fraction. The entire audience held their breath. “Soon the streets stood empty but for the bones of the twice-slain.” Loki paused dramatically, and let the last few words trail off as he ended. “Then the people came in thanks, rejoicing for their enemies ruin.”

All at once, everyone seemed to remember exactly who it was they had been listening to, and the panic resumed as Loki flashed out of existence.

“What was that all about?” Tony asked.

“Thor?” Natasha prompted.

“He has written a battle-poem to praise our valour,” Thor admitted at last, sounding more than a little embarrassed.

“Let me guess, it’s some sort of insult.”

“It is a high honour,” Thor said. “But Loki has always been adept at twisting words, and his choice of battle is highly suspect.”

“That wasn’t a battle,” Tony said, “that was a fiasco. _Walking dinosaur skeletons_ , remember?” 

* * *

**FRONT PAGE NEWS:**

The infamous Loki was seen at Grand Central yesterday afternoon, at which time he forced the population to listen to a so-called ‘poem’. Officer Riley T. Jones said, “Yeah right.” When asked what Loki’s actions may _truly_ have been about, Riley stated, “This move? It’s only the beginning. Next thing you know, he publishes an autobiography.” Well, one thing’s for sure: If he wants to sell us anything, he’ll have to get rid of the horns.


	7. Chapter 7

“I am not giving up my helmet. That is non-negotiable.”

“But we could take advantage of it! Show that you’re willing to make sacrifices for the _common good_!”

Loki glowered. Selva Jane stared back, arms crossed, not letting herself be cowed. “You said you wanted to change your reputation,” she pressed.

Loki sat stiffly at the table, peering hatefully down at the polished wooden surface. He imagined the satisfaction it would give him to rip out this mortal woman’s innards one by one, not letting her die until she begged for mercy a thousand times over.

“Well? I have to know how invested you are in this. I’m doing what I can, but without you, it’s just not possible. Your cooperation is essential to our success.”

He should have known from the first. Her name itself spoke of horrors untold. _Jane_. The same name as Thor’s hateful little sycophant.

“For how long?” He was _not_ pleading. Most certainly not.

Selva’s expression changed, to across between relief at still being alive (she had noticed the buildup of green energy around his hands with what she could admit to herself had been something along the lines of _pure terror_ ) and a condescending sort of pride, as she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

“Perhaps just for the time being,” she said diplomatically. “As I was saying before,” she continued, changing the subject, “Your little stunt was unexpected, but less harmful than it could have been. You shook them up—nobody knows what you’re playing at anymore.”

“They never did,” Loki returned, with a sneer.

“And now they _really_ have no clue. It’s good. It will be a great lead-in to the next part of our campaign.” 

“Which is?” Loki asked coldly.

“Recognition. If people get used to seeing you when you aren’t trying to kill them, they’re bound to be less afraid of you. Which is why you are going to be a hairdresser.”

Loki blinked. He stared across the table at the exited face of his marketing agent. “A hairdresser?”

“It’s perfect,” she said. “You’ll be a natural!”

“I know this place varies from Asgard, but how is this not servant’s work?”

“You’ll still be helping the population, and people tend to get on quite good terms with their hairdressers. Before you know it, you could be an accepted—and valued—member of society!”

Loki was unconvinced.

“Look at it this way; if you do this and it works, then our job would be almost complete, and you’ll never have to see me again. Plus, think how honored everyone will be—a prince of Asgard working for such a noble cause!”

“If it were to fail?” Loki asked skeptically.

“Not to worry, I’ve got some other ideas as well,” she said reassuringly.

That was what he was afraid of.


	8. Loki the Hairdresser

It was a quiet day outside the hair salon. A few birds flew overhead. Through the window, some women could be seen in chairs, their hair up in curlers or being trimmed neatly. Leaves blew across the sidewalk. Distant car alarms went off over the city. And then—a black boot stepped onto the doorstep. Loki turned the knob and entered.

“—But you wouldn’t guess, Matilda, what he was actually doing there—I think he was trying to figure out what _she_ was doing.”

“No,” said the hairdresser, picking up a bobby pin. Loki rolled his eyes at the banal conversation.

“Oh! Loki dear, you’re here, I thought you might be late!”

“Why would you think that?”

“Oh, no reason but the last man we hired was always late and he never remembered to put the closed sign on at the end of the day either. And his hair was never neat like yours. I don’t even think that he brushed it!” she said, gesturing widely with one hand while curling a young woman’s hair with the other.

“After you’ve put your scepter in the staff room,” she said, “then maybe you can start on Lexie here. She just came in and she’d like a—what would you like dear?”

“Something special,” she said. “I have a date tonight.” She touched her dark hair self-consciously. “I want to try something new.”

When Loki had put his things away, he went over to her and examined her hair for a moment. “Hello, miss,” he said politely.

She had almost waist length hair—something he hadn’t seen in Midgard as much as in Asgard where it was the style in court—this would be fun, he thought, his head already filling with thoughts of the elaborate braids and coiffures he could put in there. He picked up a brush, and began combing through it.

* * *

“So,” said Matilda, sighing. She turned around, and her eyes widened. “Oh, Loki, that’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed, smiling a him. “You’re a natural talent.” Loki was secretly pleased. He swiveled Lexie’s chair around to face the mirror. She gasped.

“Wow,” she said. Her hair was wound up with tiny braids lining the edges and trailing around narrow curls.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a few weeks later and Loki decided he was bored. He needed a new idea, so he wandered down into his underground, magic-shock-wave-proof bunker under his house, and looked around speculatively. He went over to the worktable and began tinkering with things. There were a few odds and ends left over from his last experiment. It seemed to have been evolving while he was away. There was a mixture of leftover sleeping draught which looked to have melded with a potion for encouraging inspiration (he called it “The Inspiration Elixir”—or he _would_ , if he ever got it to work) glowing faintly luminescent and hovering a few inches off the table. He pushed it back down, and began prodding it with a fork.

He got so caught up that he didn’t notice the hours flying past as he perfected his design for cement potatoes. They would look, feel and smell just like ordinary potatoes, but they were in no way _food_ …

By the time dawn came in the crack of the half-opened door he was deep into his project, not even noticing the light until it crawled over to his workspace. All at once he realized how late it was, and that he was completely exhausted. He set down his work, thinking about taking a nap, but then realized in a sudden panic that he had somewhere to be, and he’d completely forgotten. His job at the hair salon! They would be missing him, and he made a point to _never_ be late.

Loki rushed out of the room, only bothering to padlock the iron door behind him, dashing out the house as he summoned a glamour to hide his disheveled appearance. He skidded into the salon right on the dot and straightened up, entering leisurely and haughtily.

The first few hours passed well enough, but as the time wore on, his hunger and exhaustion began to show in his shaking hands. He glared down at them, annoyed. His stamina had never been the same after he’d recovered from his should-have-been-mortal wound, and it grated on him that he now had to eat and sleep almost as regularly as a mortal. He was _above_ them in every way. But it was becoming more and more obvious that styling hair wasn’t going to go very well. Matilda, with her sharp eyes, noticed this, and when lunch break came, she ushered him into the staff room.

“Here,” she said, “there’s a half a sandwich—oh now, don’t complain! After that you are free to take a nap. I’ll wake you when you’re needed.”

Loki glared at her but complied sulkily.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a few weeks since Loki had tried out the new idea of being a hairstylist, and he was liking it immensely. It was a chance to put his great knowledge to use and impress people. In Asgard it really wasn’t proper, but he’d always loved doing people’s hair. He did his mother’s and Thor’s whenever he could get away with it. (His brother’s hair styling was pretty miserable without him. He let it grow all stringy and always let it fall into his eyes. And never brushed it enough.) Loki stared off into the distance. He was jealous. Sure his green eyes were beautiful and entrancing, but Thor’s were… well, he didn’t get all that attention for nothing. And it certainly had nothing to do with his sparkling wit. He imagined Thor on a high balcony on Stark Tower. The sun was going down and the sky was glowing redly.

Thor gazed out over the city lights and sighed. “I miss home, brother,” he said.

Loki stepped beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes I want this to be over,” he said quietly. He could not look at Thor’s face. Instead he stared out over the tall edges of the skyscrapers, grey in the waning light, windows reflecting the sun’s last rays.

“It will be. In time.”

Loki turned. Thor was still, gazing out across the land, silent but for the sound of wind. For one moment, Loki saw him as a stranger; he caught his breath, an inexplicable fear filling him. “Yes,” he said, the word seeming to die on his tongue, but Thor heard him all the same.

“I have my friends,” Thor continued, following the thread of a conversation Loki could no longer remember. “And you.”

Loki looked away. “Always,” he said.

In the sky, the sun vanished, replaced by whirling nebulae and far-off stars.

“Loki?”

“Yes?”

“You have secret passages between worlds. Can you not take me back to visit for just this one night?”

They were standing close, Thor facing him unheeding, feet scarce inches from the edge.

“I have a passage to somewhere better,” Loki said at last.

“Where?”

Loki smiled, and pushed.

Thor fell, wind racing past him, toward the street below.

“Loki!” he called, pleading.

“No.” Loki whispered.

His eyes flew open.

* * *

“Good dream dear?” asked Matilda.

“No.” he said sharply. “A nightmare, actually.” He shook himself and exited the staff room.


	11. Chapter 11

Dana was a regular. She came to the salon once a week, as much to talk as to have her hair done.

“So,” Matilda said, “How did it go with Thomas?”

“Awful! He said ‘so—you’re getting your hair done tomorrow, right’ as if he were only making conversation, but I could see the way he looked at me so suspiciously.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Lexie from where her hair was being washed across the room, “you should totally break up with him.”

“But he seemed so nice!” said Matilda. “I remember when you first met him. You went to the beach, you said—”

“And it started raining,” Dana said darkly.

Lexie sighed and added, “And then he gave you his coat and put his arm around you. “So romantic—but I guess you can never tell.”

“Indeed,” Loki said, “If anyone goes so far as to insinuate infidelity without even the honor to tell you to your face, he is certainly no man.”

“You’re so right,” Dana said.

“What about that guy who came in here last week—the salesman—Todd? He was cute.”

“No, he went out with Sally.” Loki said.

“Oh,” Lexie answered. “Right, I forgot.” The bell rang and the door swung open. A tall woman none of them recognized came in.

“Can I help you?” asked Loki.

“Yes please. I’d like a trim. Just as little as possible, to get rid of the split ends. I’m growing it out.”

“Certainly madam.” She sat in a chair and Loki started to comb out her hair.

“So the Avengers were in the news,” she said.

“Were they?” Loki smirked.

“Yeah. And that guy in red was there. Saved the day. What’s his name again?”

“Thor?” asked Lexie.

“Yes, that’s it.”

Loki picked up the scissors and carefully began trimming off the tips of her hair.

“I don’t see why he’s such a big deal,” the woman continued. “He’s just a man with show-off armor who thinks he’s so much better than anyone else.”

“What did you say?” asked Loki slowly.

“He’s useless. Ridiculous.” Silence passed.

_Snip_.

Several long locks of hair fell to the floor.

“Ahh!” the woman screamed. “How _dare_ you! My hair!”

“How dare _you_ say such things?” Loki said tightly.

“What do you care what I say about that sleazy prancing flirt!”


	12. Chapter 12

A lamp flickered on its side, wires blown apart. Chairs lay strewn across the floor. The woman (whose name was Anna)’s hair was significantly shorter; and brushes, curlers, irons and clips were lying on the ground. There was a hole in the wall.

“I never!” exclaimed Anna.

“You know…” said Dana shakily, “That description fits a little better with Tony Stark than it does with Thor.”

“Really?” Anna’s heart was still pounding. “Stark. Is he the one with the tower?”

“Yes,” said Lexie.

“Oh… I meant him, then… I was never any good with names.”

Moments later the Avengers arrived.

* * *

“What went on here?” Captain America asked the shaken women. “We got a call that Loki had been spotted. Is anyone injured?”

“No,” Matilda said, as Anna stormed up to the Avengers.

“You’d better catch him!” she said. “I don’t know who you superheros think you are, going around like celebrities, and you can’t even catch a supervillain under your very nose!”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” Steve started—

“No! Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me! That’s just what _he_ said, right before he _cut off all my hair_! Loki! I let him hold a pair of scissors up to my neck! I could have died! Loki! He should be banned from holding a job—the state of the _world_ —” she stormed out of the building.

There was a long silence.

“He was the nicest man—said hello in the morning and remembered everyone’s names…” Matilda said, gazing out at the rubble-filled hole in her wall.

“Excuse me?” Stark asked incredulously. “Who was?”

“Loki,” Lexie said. “He got mad because he thought Anna was dissing Thor.”

“Wait, did you _know_ him?”

“Know him? He worked here, and just a month after I lost my other one, too,” Matilda complained.

* * *

**FRONT PAGE NEWS:**

Supervillain Loki has stooped to a new low, vandalizing the hair of innocent civilian Anna Harbor. Loki apparently infiltrated a quiet downtown hair salon before violently slashing off Miss Harbor’s hair with a long bladed knife (probably left over from another crime committed soon before).

With the city growing wary of the dreaded Loki, we asked officer Alex Brown for some safety advice on what to do should any of us be confronted by him.

“It’s simple. If you see Loki, run. If you value your hair– run. If you hate poetry– run. Once at a safe distance, call the Avengers, at 212-888-AVENGE.”


	13. Chapter 13

Loki wanted to explode something. Honestly, he _needed_ to explode something. He was in a bad mood. As he walked across the sidewalk, fuming, he scanned through his mental list of things he disliked. The Avengers were the first on the list. Right now, the second thing on the list was the pizza parlor a few blocks away. They had had a very nice sounding dish on the menu, that, when he tried to order it, they said they’d never heard of; and when he finally found something they _did_ have, it took at least fifteen minutes to get to his table, and he was certain one of the staff had glared at him pointedly when he asked for tea instead of coffee.

He was pulled out of his thoughts for a moment as he passed the sight of a stand where a man was selling posters to a group of eager young girls. Loki glanced down at them, and his eyes widened as he realized that they were all artistic renderings of himself, his old mind control scepter (regrettably lost now) pointed, and below him, the caption “KNEEL!”

One of the girls glanced up and noticed him standing behind her. She stepped back in alarm, grabbing onto her friend. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her friend turned. They stood for a moment, staring in a combination of awe and shock.

“When did they start selling those?” Loki asked at last, raising his eyebrow.

She blinked. The other girl stepped forward and shoved her poster at him. “You can have mine—” she said quickly, “—don’t kill me.”

She pushed the poster into his arms and walked away, towing her friend along with her, who was still staring at Loki in amazement.

Loki looked at the poster. He thought about incinerating it, then shrugged, slipped it into his coat pocket and continued on his way. He had a pizza place to destroy.


	14. Chapter 14

“You _blew up_ a pizza place,” Selva Jane said, flatly. They were sitting in Loki’s study this time, because he’d filled up his business room with bags of cement last week and had forgotten to move them.

“There was no one inside at the time,” Loki answered mildly, lounging behind his desk. “I haven’t forgotten about my public image.”

Selva Jane groaned. She looked down at her folder, filled with carefully written notes, plans, and diagrams. “Right,” she said, trying to regain the thread of the conversation. “About the merchandise. Though it’s always good to see that people are interested, I’m not sure it’s working to promote the image you’re trying to create.” (‘And no wonder’, she thought, ‘if blowing up buildings is your idea of stress relief.’) “Furthermore, that article in the paper this morning about the hair-salon fiasco was definitely a setback. We might’ve been able to manage it better if you hadn’t gone and blown up _another building_ not two hours later.” She looked at him sternly.

Loki shrugged.

“Look, I can’t help you if you keep sabotaging yourself,” Selva Jane ground out in frustration.

“Of course you can,” Loki said. “That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?”

“You’re paying me for advice, not _miracles_!” she flipped her folder closed and shook her head. “Look, it’s just—” she faltered, staring at the wall behind Loki’s head. She could have sworn they were blank a moment ago, but now they were covered with— “are those posters of _yourself_?”

“No,” Loki said quickly, the image fading out with a green shimmer. He pushed a Loki action figure surreptitiously into his desk drawer.

Selva Jane blinked. “Okay. Sure.” She paused. The digital clock on the desk flashed out the seconds. Loki twirled a pencil in his hand and stared off artfully into the distance.

“You know what?” she said at last, “we’ve been dealing with this all wrong.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “I should have thought of this earlier! You need something action oriented.”

She looked up at Loki triumphantly. “How would you like to be a stuntman?”

Loki grinned. “Ooh, I _like_ that.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course, there is the fact that movies take ages to film… It’s magic. And Loki. Ignore the plot holes!

It was movie night in the Avengers Tower, and none of them were quite sure what the movie was supposed to be about. Right now, the main character was chasing after his love-interest, who had been captured by trolls sometime in the past fifteen minutes. He was riding through the wilderness on a motorbike, in traditional colonial clothes, left over from the parade. As he revved the bike and leapt over a fallen tree, a troll jumped out of the bushes and sent him flying through the air.

Steve blinked. “Wait a minute, pause that,” he said. “Pause it and rewind a little.”

“Seriously?” asked Tony. “There’s literally nothing to see here. Nothing’s happened in this scene at all except the guy being chased all over Westchester.”

“Just go back a moment, I think I noticed something interesting.”

“I really doubt that,” Tony said, but Clint, who was holding the remote, pressed the flash backward button. Back went the motorcycle, pulling its way through the trees and rocks…

“Wait, that’s too far,” said Steve, so Clint fast-forwarded it again. The man hit the ground hard and scrambled away from the approaching troll, reaching down for a weapon—“Not that far,” Steve said.

Natasha went into the kitchen. Tony rolled his eyes and grabbed the remote from Clint, holding down the button. It paged back second by second.

“Right there—stop,” said Steve. They stared at the screen. The hero was in midair, troll flying behind him.

“Is that…?” asked Clint slowly.

“Loki!” said Thor, waking up on the couch and wondering what was going on.

“Wow, it is,” said Natasha, coming back into the room, and staring at the screen.

“So Loki crashed a movie?” asked Tony.

“Do you think he killed anyone?” said Bruce.

“Let me look at the credits,” Natasha said, skipping to the end of the movie. They watched the strange sped-up forms of people and trolls; trolls eating people, people killing trolls, and—strangely—what looked like a dance party in the middle of the woods.

“Was that a disco ball?” said Bruce.

“Well we’re _not_ going back to check,” said Clint.

“Sorry,” said Bruce. “It sounded interesting in the summary.”

Natasha paused the credits and, clearly visible, could be seen the name of the stuntman. “Loki Friggarson.” Clint swore.

Thor glanced at it. “Is this surprising?” he asked. “I thought that everyone involved in these movies merited a line stating their name at the end.”

“Since when is Loki involved in a movie in any way that doesn’t include killing people?” asked Tony. “I thought he was supposed to be a supervillain.”

“My _brother_ was also a stuntman in the last movie we watched,” Thor said. “The one with the mad scientist.”

“How do we know he _didn’t_ kill anyone?” Bruce asked.

“Maybe he wanted a change of pace,” Natasha offered. “I can see him being interested in stunts.”

“Right, yeah,” said Tony. “That makes _perfect_ sense. Look, something’s been going on with him ever since that poetry reading—”

“I think it’s part of a plan,” Clint said. “He doesn’t just _do_ things for no reason.”

“Barton does have a point,” Thor said. “Loathe as I am to believe evil of him, Loki is rarely without a plan.” He paused, speculatively. “On the other hand, stunts do sound like an engaging pastime.”

“Okay then,” Steve said. “I think we’re all of the opinion that looking into this wouldn’t hurt. Natasha?”

“I’m on it,” she said.

Clint stood up as well and followed her out of the room. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to go near him,” he said in response to her silent question.

In the other room, the movie was still paused. Finally, Thor spoke. “If we are not going to continue to watch this film, that makes it the end of this movie night, correct?”

“Yeah I guess so,” Steve said.

“Who even came up with this idea?” Tony asked. “It’s a terrible idea. None of us know any good movies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matronymic taken from here: http://helshades.tumblr.com/post/55423712595/naming-your-characters-old-norse-style


	16. Loki the Stuntman

The set for what was to become America’s next comedy-with-a-twist was crowded. People walked busily from one side to the other, no one noticing the two heads peeking out from behind a very fake looking bush.

Lounging in a black folding chair which, technically, he hadn’t been given, Loki was conversing with an enthusiastic pyrotechnic, who was telling him all about how to create realistic explosions. Loki smiled. He didn’t tell the man he was already somewhat familiar with how to do that.

The obviously fake bush slid sideways a few feet.

“Everything seems pretty normal,” said Clint. They had a good view of the set, and had hooked up speakers so that they could hear everything Loki was saying.

“Yeah,” said Natasha, sitting beside him on a bit of scaffolding high above the ground, “Except for that bush… it keeps moving.”

Clint looked at it. “Weird,” he said. “Think _he’s_ moving it?”

“No, it’s just a couple of kids. I saw them run over there a few minutes ago.”

“Huh,” Clint said. “Maybe they’re Loki’s spies.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

They listened to the conversation going on down below.

“—So, you’ve had some experience then?” the pyrotechnic, whose name was Earl, asked Loki, from where he was leaning against a wall and holding a banana.

“Quite a bit. I’ve been in many movies, actually.” This wasn’t an exaggeration, if two counted as “many”.

“That’s great,” Earl said. He looked past Loki and noticed a man approaching.

“Refreshment?” the man asked, hopefully, holding out a plate.

“No, thank you,” said Loki.

The refreshment man sighed in a long-suffering manner, and glanced at Earl. “Are you going to eat that banana?” he asked.

Earl looked down at the banana in his hand. It was a prop that his best friend Norman had given to him, which they had wired up to explode if someone dropped it.

“It’s a prop,” said Earl.

The movie’s beautiful star walked out from where she had been filming. There was a scuffle and a certain bush toppled over. Two kids ran from behind it, waving autograph books in the air.

“Please Melissa will you sign this for us?” they yelled, skidding to a halt at her feet.

She started, and turned. When she saw them a smile came to her face. “All right,” she said. “But then you have to leave—I don’t want to get you kicked out by security. That’s never fun. Trust me, I know.”

Thankful, they opened their books and gave her a pen.

Loki stood up, making his way over to the guards and speaking with them quietly. It was about time something interesting happened.

The children had just finished getting their autographs when the guards came around the corner. The kids took one look at them and ran away, jumping over the upturned bush as they did so.

Earl took a half step to the side, putting out his arms to keep his balance, and bumped into the bush. He stumbled, windmilling his arms, and fell.

The banana spun gracefully in the air, the light glinting off it, and seemed to hang suspended for a silent moment, denying all physics and gravity.

And then it fell at Loki’s feet.

Loki stared at it. “Damn.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Loki stood up from the charred remains of what used to be his—or rather the director’s—chair. He brushed the dust off his coat.

* * *

**FRONT PAGE NEWS: _Loki Causes Banana Blowout!_**

Rising menace Loki, who has been staking out movie sets for nearly a month after weaseling his way into two film productions, made a dangerous attempt on the life of actress Melissa May. In the words of a bystander: “He didn’t even want one! Do you know how hard I work, walking from place to place offering refreshments to people?”

As you can see, Loki has not only returned to his evil ways but has now taken to targeting local celebrities. If he doesn’t stop soon, who knows which of us will be next? The question foremost in everyone’s mind is: where were the Avengers when this atrocity took place?


	17. Chapter 17

It was a few hours since Loki had gotten up. After reading the article in the newspaper, he put it down in frustration and decided not to go to work that day. He’d probably been fired anyway. It was too bad—besides the hair salon, this was the only job he’d really enjoyed. It had definitely started to grow on him—all the free theatrics and explosions, and he didn’t even get in trouble for it.

The afternoon passed. Seeing as he had nothing better to do, Loki ventured into his basement to continue his devious project.

There was a pot on the table with a potato plant in it. It seemed to be growing quite well under his speed enchantment.

Digging his fingers into the soil, Loki retrieved one of the potatoes, examining it speculatively. He knocked it with his fist. It did seem a _bit_ harder than a normal potato. He took a knife from the wall over the counter and sliced through his creation, watching thin, even slivers land on the workbench. Bending down, he rummaged under the table.

Bone? —no. Boots?—what were _they_ doing down here, he’d been looking for them for _ages_ —hourglass, picture frame in wooden crate, crowbar… sheet of aluminum. Perfect.

Loki stood up, passing his hand quickly over the metal to sterilize it. Then he scooped the potatoes on, held them over a flame, added a bit of salt and pepper—something he hoped even the most inept cook would think to put on potatoes (and if not he deeply pitied them)—and tasted the finished product. It was rather chewy, for a so-called potato, and it had a strange flavor that, if you didn’t know what it was made of, would have been very hard to place.

* * *

On a trip upstairs to retrieve some more pots, Loki heard the phone ring. Confused, he went to pick it up. People didn’t usually try to call him. Telemarketers did occasionally—but he’d pretty much dealt with _that_ problem with his voicemail.

To Loki’s surprise, the call was from Ross Yeadon, his director. He probably wanted to make Loki pay for the destruction of his chair or something. Apparently the rhinestones had been custom.

“Hey Loki.”

“Hi,” said Loki. There was an awkward pause.

“So, you didn’t come into work today, and I was kind of worried. Are you all right—you know, ‘cause of the explosion and all that. Are you quitting? I mean, you’re a great member of the team and I’d hate to lose you—and you’ve got that big death scene tomorrow—also everyone really missed you this afternoon, thought you might want to know.”

Loki blinked. On the edge of the counter, the tall stack of pots teetered dangerously. He steadied them.

At best, he’d figured, they wouldn’t have banned him from the fruit section of the supermarket. But here he was, getting a call of apology! He hadn’t lost his job—moreover, they wanted him _back_. “I,” Loki said. “Uh, I’d love to die for you.”

He shook himself. “I mean, I’d love to come back, and do the death scene. For your movie. Tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re so enthusiastic. See ya then!”

“Of course,” Loki said. “Give the crew my thanks.”

“Ah, don’t mention it,” said Ross.

_I’d love to die for you_? Loki thought scathingly as he put the phone down onto its hook. Could he _possibly_ have sounded any more inane?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about the voicemail was a reference to this video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96KzUemdOt4 SAR: The One Where Loki Hates Everything, by Parle Productions.


	18. Chapter 18

In two hours, it was time for his usual weekly meeting with Selva Jane. Loki went into his meeting room early, and magicked his solemn high-backed chair into the twirly kind, so he could spin in it triumphantly. He did so. It was quite fun.

When Selva entered, he quickly sat up straight and put on a businesslike expression—or at least he tried to—but the corner of his mouth kept twitching up.

Sitting down at the table, Selva Jane set her folders before her, a grim look on her face. She straightened the edges carefully. “Exploding bananas?”

“I wasn’t fired,” Loki said quickly. He grinned.

“…Oh,” Selva Jane said in surprise. “Well… that’s great. How?”

“For once, it wasn’t my fault,” Loki said. “As usual, the _Weekly News_ knows nothing of journalistic integrity. Fortunately, the director had a less easily swayed mind than the general public.”

Selva looked down and made a small note. “In that case, do you think you’d be good at acting?”

“What do you mean?” Loki asked, folding his hands.

“Well, you could think about making some connections, see if you can get a part in a movie. It would definitely give you more exposure, which is what we’re looking for.”

Loki _hmmmed_. “I’ll see what I can do.”


	19. Chapter 19

Loki lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Moonlight played softly against the slim shadows and the night was quiet and still. But Loki was buzzing. He couldn’t help it, he was still in a good mood from his day and felt like celebrating. Something small he could get away with. Just because he was “reforming” didn’t mean he had to let go of his life of crime. He hadn’t done anything really _fun_ since the theft of those cement bags from the construction site down the street.

A few minutes later, Loki was dressed and standing in a dark alley, nothing but another shadow, unnoticeable to living observers. He grinned. _Let’s see how good mortal security systems really are_ , he thought.

Something collided with him from behind and Loki stumbled, forgetting his invisibility and throwing his hand out to keep from falling. He turned to see a man sprawled on the ground before him—a man that Loki had somehow not noticed creeping along the alley until he’d tried to walk through the space Loki was occupying. He was dressed in black clothes and was wearing a ski mask. On the ground beside him was a wrench and an empty canvas bag, which he scrambled to pick up.

“D-don’t come any closer,” the man said, brandishing the wrench.

“What in the world inspires this kind of weird behavior?” Loki asked irritably.

The man lowered his wrench. “It’s not like I _asked_ you to jump out at me from—from _thin air_ like that.” He waved his hand at the empty stretch of wall accusingly.

“Jump out? As I recall, _you_ bumped into _me_ ,” Loki said. “I was doing nothing but minding my own business—”

“Lurking in an alleyway in front of a bank, with a crowbar, in the dead of night,” the man added. “Sure.”

Loki gave the man a pointed look.

The man sighed, and shrugged. Then he leaned against the wall across from Loki. “Bank robbing, man,” he said. “It’s a hard business. They walk in while you’re still in the middle of things, and suddenly it’s all _your_ fault. I mean, hey, I’ve got a family to feed, just like anyone!”

“Quite unreasonable, blaming you like that,” Loki agreed.

“Like I said, it’s all about time,” the man answered. “I mean it was kind of my own fault—I forgot my lucky wrench.” He hefted it. “Not making that mistake again.”

Loki eyed the wrench and made a noncommittal noise.

“—What about you?”

“I find it pleasurable,” Loki said. “It’s, ah, what would you call it—a hobby.”

They looked at the bank across the street.

“Go ahead,” Loki said. “I can find another place easily enough.”

“You sure?” the man asked.

Loki nodded. Then, struck by an idea, he shoved a hand into his pocket and brought out a business card, offering it. “If you ever want a foolproof burgling plan, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Oh,” the man said, bemused. “Thanks.” He picked up the card and stared at it for a moment. There was no name; the card itself was matte black with only a number on it in small gold characters. Sticking the card in his pocket, he hoisted his bag over his shoulder, gripped his wrench tighter, and slipped out of the alleyway.


	20. Chapter 20

Loki woke up. It was a Wednesday morning, and, in a figurative sense, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. In fact, it actually _was_ quite a sunny day. Loki was grinning—not in a manic, psychotic, murderous sort of way, but in a way that conveyed a simple emotion: he was happy.

He hadn’t been attacked for months. He’d kept his job—which was going very well—and because of that, he figured he would do something special for breakfast.

Loki got up, dressed, and went down into his kitchen. Sun was streaming through the six wide windows, making the white marble countertops shine. He took a metal bowl, a whisk, and some various ingredients out of the cabinets, considering different recipes and discarding them all as not interesting enough, before the pumpkin sitting on the far side of the counter caught his eye.

Within half an hour, he was making a perfectly cooked batch of pumpkin pancakes with caramelized pecans. He retrieved some grade A dark Amber maple syrup from the refrigerator, before pouring some on top. He set the plate down by his seat along with a glass of water and started to sit down, but before he had even taken his first bite, he heard a sudden noise, and looked up to see a woman standing a few feet away, watching him calmly. “I’ve finally found you,” she said. “I’ve been tracking down your location for six months. Cleverly hidden, I’ll admit.” She took a gun out of her pocket and aimed it at his head, her lips drawing into a concentrated line. “I have waited for this moment for a very long time.”

Loki put down his fork with a small sigh. “Pancake?” he offered.

The woman sneered. “If you think acting the gentleman will save you, you are badly mistaken.”

Loki eyed her quizzically. “I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked.

“Don’t act as though you don’t remember burning down my art studio, with me inside. A hundred thousand dollars worth of original paintings, and I barely escaped.”

Loki cocked his head. He didn’t recall this event—not that such a thing was out of the realm of possibility—it was hard to remember _every_ insignificant mortal construct he decided to decimate, but still, it seemed low for him to have knowingly destroyed artwork. They must have been terrible quality.

He courteously informed the woman of this.

The woman fired.

Loki raised a hand and caused the air in front of him to coalesce into a shield, which deflected the bullet. The woman ducked as it ricocheted around the room, then set the gun on the floor and dove at him.

Loki took a bite. They were very good pancakes, he mused.

A fist buried itself into the side of his ribcage as the woman barreled forward, almost knocking him off his chair. He turned his head and looked at her.

“I will give you one chance,” he said quietly. “Get out.”

She punched him in the face.

* * *

Loki set down his fork, regretting that he would have to get another one, as this was in no condition to be eating from. He wiped a trail of blood from his jaw and stared at the body before him. Oh, well.

It had been fun while it lasted.


End file.
